A few hours later, im sitting here again, sipping on my stash of Vodka and energy drink. I’m trying to work out why it is I write, as the burn of the cheap Vodka and slightly flat mixer hits the back of my throat. If i’m honest i’m not really sure I know. I drink because I want the blurry escape from reality that it allows me, I cut to feel something real, I watch absurd amounts of TV and films as another form of escape, but I write..why? Where is it I want this to go? I used to write poems and started various short stories, but they always had to be based around real people/events, I could never make complete work of Fiction. Am I lonely is because I have nobody to talk to? I don’t think so, I mean i’m not doing it because I want people to comment, not even bothered if anybody is reading it? Maybe it’s because it gives my mind something to focus on? Who knows maybe I never will work out the answer!?

I’ve now taken to downing the remainder of the Vodka and it’s starting to get stronger, but this is good as I need a break, it’s taking all my will power to control my feelings toward the women who seem to have had the unfortunate ¬†luck of becoming the objects of affection. Arrrghh, fuck me my arms starting to get sore now I can’t stop picking the bloody scabs!!

But you know what, it’s okay. I think i’m starting to see it now. My head, Me…i’m a complete Fuck Up!

I no longer think I class myself as a normal and adequately functioning member of society.

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